Back on the Ground
by coonskin
Summary: A look at the events that happened after Steve's blind landing in Pilot Error.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I love the episode Pilot Error, but one thing always struck me, and that's the time gap between the landing and that final scene. It's obvious that there is a time gap, because Steve's burns are healing, and also Oscar says that the General resigned from both the Air Force and Congress "last week." At least a week has gone by, probably about a week and a half, since the General when last seen was unconscious, and I assume a day or two of treatment, learning what happened, and getting a mental grip on that went by in there before his resignation. Anyway, this story is a short look at what might have happened during that week and a half.

SMD

"You did it," Greg's voice said from his right.

Steve shook his head. "No, we did it." The fresh air as the canopy of the Navion was pushed back felt marvelous, and he sucked down deep breaths of it. He was sweating. He could hear the rapidly approaching sirens of the airport emergency vehicles.

All at once, Steve was exhausted. He knew he was dehydrated; all of them had to be from the hours of hard labor out there building a makeshift runway with no water around. Furthermore, now that he had a chance to pay attention to it again, the burns across his face were hurting more as if insulted that he hadn't had a thought to spare for them for the last hour. The sweat rolling into them ramped up the pain, as well. His real eye was still stinging; the bionic one gave him no feedback at all. Both of them, even through the bandage, let in not a peep of light.

Greg grasped his arm. "They'll get you to a doctor, sir. All three of you. They'll get your eyes fixed up."

And that was the other massive problem looming up and claiming what little mental energy he had left. Steve knew that he couldn't avoid being taken to the hospital. In fact, he knew that he _shouldn't_ avoid it. He urgently needed medical attention. But the minute the ER physicians at the airport hospital hooked him up to their instruments, they would discover that half of him was a machine, not a human.

That included one of his eyes, and the eyes would be an immediate focus of medical treatment for them. As soon as they started to examine him, his top-secret status would be out. Steve had to protect that, had to maintain security. He would call Oscar and Rudy, of course, but dealing with this situation initially would all fall on him. Nobody was likely to hand a clearly injured ER patient a phone before giving him an evaluation and emergency treatment first. Right now, when he felt wrung out, hurting, and weak, not to mention being literally blind, he had to protect protocol and secrecy. He didn't feel up to it, and that fact wasn't relevant in the slightest. No, the next hour at least, until Oscar or Rudy could be contacted and go into action, was all on him. He sighed.

The sirens stopped, and Steve heard racing footsteps. In the next moment, ladders were put quickly into place against the Navion, and a voice spoke at his elbow. "It's all right, Colonel. We're here now, and we'll take care of everything." Not quite, Steve thought. "Can you move?" the voice continued.

Steve wasn't sure, but he knew that he and Greg would have to get out of the little plane before the two unconscious back seat passengers could be reached. "Yes," he said, hoping that was accurate. He grabbed the yoke for leverage and pushed himself up from the seat, and the EMT to his left latched onto him, helping. Steve, of course, had exited the pilot seat of a plane hundreds of times in his career, both pre and post bionics. He had never done it blind, however.

On the other hand, he had never landed a plane blind, either, prior to today. With the assistance of his human guide dog, he managed to get out the door and onto the wide emergency ladder. "Easy now," the voice said. With help every step, Steve slowly backed down, finally landing on solid ground. His legs felt shaky beneath him, the connection between bionics and flesh not quite working efficiently simply due to the stress his physical body was under at the moment.

He didn't have to stay on his feet long. Two more EMTs took over immediately, one on each side, and guided him just a few steps to a gurney. They settled him down, and then, as one fastened the safety strap quickly, the other said, "Let me just get some initial vitals. We're only a few minutes from the base hospital; they'll do most of the evaluation there." Steve picked up his left arm and offered it, and the EMT obligingly grabbed that one, checking the pulse.

First trap avoided, but he knew he'd never be able to conceal his true status once he got to the ER. He felt the gurney being lifted into the ambulance, and then a blood pressure cuff was wrapped around his left arm, which he was still offering ahead of the right. This couldn't last. The game was almost up, the secret nearly out.

The ambulance ride was as short as promised, and then, as the gurney was unloaded, there came a touch on his right shoulder, and the next moment, there was a familiar voice in his ear. "I'm here, pal."

Steve shifted in surprise, though he couldn't sit up while strapped to the gurney. "Oscar! What are you doing here?"

"Never mind now. The important thing is, I'm here. I'll take care of everything."

Steve settled back against the gurney, letting himself relax for the first time in hours.


	2. Chapter 2

Oscar was nothing if not efficient. Steve was whisked at once to what was obviously a private room off the main ER, and he heard the thunk of the door closing solidly behind them, a barrier to the world.

"Anything any of you see or observe in this room is to be considered a military secret," Oscar stated firmly. "It is not to be discussed among yourselves aside from the extent needed for medical care or revealed to anyone. And it is not to be charted. You will use his left arm for all monitors or lines instead of the right. Understood?"

Three voices acknowledged, and Steve did his best to pin their locations down. A doctor and two nurses, he decided. The doctor was next to his head on the left. The nurses were one on each side. Oscar still stood next to Steve's head on the right, and he still had his hand on Steve's shoulder. Any questions those three might have had, Oscar had the authority to command prompt agreement without debate. Steve was glad that he didn't have to give that speech himself; they never would have taken it without question from him that quickly.

The doctor spoke up from his left. "What exactly happened to you, Colonel Austin?"

"The oil line on the Navion broke in the engine compartment. I had just leaned over to see if I could fix anything from the passenger's seat when the line developed a second leak, this time in the cabin. It sprayed hot oil on my face. Hit me square in the eyes." He felt Oscar flinch. "Greg did flush them out as best he could with the first aid kit."

"Do you have any other injuries anywhere else?" the doctor asked.

"No." Steve still felt shaky, even lying down, and the pain was steady and demanding attention.

The nurse on the left picked up a fold of skin on the back of his hand; he could feel her fingers. "He's pretty dehydrated, Doctor."

"We didn't have any water," Steve explained. "The plane crashed, and we had to move rocks and brush out of the way to make a runway while the General fixed the oil line. It took several hours of hard physical work. I'm sure all four of us are."

"Start an IV," the doctor said. "Run it wide open." Steve was hooked up to monitors, and he could hear the too-fast heartbeat himself. "Pulse too fast, pressure a little low. Hopefully he'll respond to just fluids. Of course, there's the pain factor, too. This has to be hurting like hell."

"It is," Steve admitted.

"Go ahead and give him something for it," Oscar stated. "It's all right, Steve."

"Not too much," Steve insisted. "I need to know about the others."

"What happened to the others?" Oscar asked. "How did you wind up flying Senator Hill's plane?"

"Lannon was bitten by a rattlesnake while we were clearing the runway." Steve kept his suspicions on that to himself for the moment at least. Lannon had guided him directly to that snake with amazing accuracy. It could still have been coincidence, but Lannon was an entirely different breed than Hill. He didn't completely trust him. "So we took off again to get him back for help. But something went wrong with General Hill. The plane was 100 miles off course even before the oil line broke, and shortly after we took off again, the General passed out. So I - I took over. Greg was acting as my eyes."

Oscar gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Rudy's off at an international conference, but I'm going to use that phone over there to try to track him down. At least he can talk to Dr. Miller here. I'll be right in the room still, pal. Just try to relax."

"Easy for you to say," Steve muttered.

One of the nurses spoke up from his right. "I'm putting some pain medication into the IV, Colonel. It won't knock you out, but you should feel better soon."

The doctor's hands were on his head. "I'm going to take off this bandage and examine your eyes." Steve heard the scissors snipping through the gauze. Oscar's voice came from the corner of the room, demanding that they retrieve Dr. Wells at once, no matter what he was doing.

The bandage fell away, and Steve tried futilely to see. Nothing. Not a glimmer, not with either eye. The doctor's tone was matter-of-fact. "I'm just going to use this ophthalmoscope here and take a look." He started on the right eye, and Steve could feel his fingers manipulating the lids. He then moved over, and the sure, steady fingers faltered. "This left eye - "

"It's artificial," Steve said. He could feel the shot working; the pain was still present but retreating some now.

"It's - right, okay." The doctor obviously realized with his scope that this was beyond just a routine glass eye, but he stomped down his professional curiosity nicely.

"Rudy!" Oscar's voice raised a little. "It's Oscar. We have a problem back here; Steve was in an accident, and it blinded him. Yes, blinded him. Yes, I mean both. Hang on, I'm going to give the phone to Dr. Miller here from the ER."

The doctor put a cloth back across Steve's eyes to protect them, not that Steve could see it, of course, but he could feel it. "Get some Silvadene ointment and start putting it on the skin burns," Miller ordered as he crossed the room to the phone.

Oscar returned. "Feeling any better?"

"Some," Steve said. He was straining his ears, trying to hear both sides of the phone conversation, which of course was impossible on this non-speaker phone. At least he got the doctor's half of it loud and clear.

Dr. Miller described the accident, then went into professional details. "He has several second-degree burns on his face. The eyes apparently took a direct hit from the hot oil. The right one is severely inflamed; it's hard to see the pupil at all. There was an effort made to flush them out with the first aid kit at the scene. The left eye - yes, I noticed. The eye itself looks - I'd almost say slightly melted in a few places when I check it with the ophthalmoscope. Basically sound, but whatever that is, I don't think it's supposed to look like this. The tissues surrounding the left eye socket are badly inflamed same as the right." There was a long pause. "Okay, I can do that." Another long pause. "I agree; there's no way he could undergo any sort of work on that side until the general inflammation and burns have settled down." Another pause. "All right, Dr. Wells. I will. Mr. Goldman, he wants to talk to you again."

Oscar left to recross the room, and a moment later, the doctor came back. "I'm going to raise the head of the bed." He did so. "Next, I'm going to flush out your eyes, both of them, extensively. This will be much more thorough than the first time with the first aid kit. Then I'll add some medication into the last few minutes of the eye wash to get that all around the tissues on both sides. It should start to help settle them down. Then we'll have some drops and also I'll use artificial tears for the right one, and then we'll rebandage them." He removed the cloth across Steve's eyes. "Hold still, Colonel. This isn't going to be terribly comfortable, but I doubt much is at the moment anyway."

The prediction was accurate. The whole process took about 20 minutes, and by the end of it, Steve was surprised that both of his eyes, the real one as well as the bionic, hadn't washed completely down the drain. Finally, with the treatment complete and eyedrops added, a new bandage was put on.

"Your vitals are looking better," Dr. Miller said. "I'll keep you on IV fluids tonight. I think we can move you over to a standard room for the moment, Colonel."

"What did Rudy say?" Steve asked. He felt absolutely wrung out. The pain was a little better, but he felt like his last vestiges of strength had disappeared. If the gurney weren't holding him up, he'd fall straight to the floor, he was sure.

Oscar's voice was reassuring. "For the moment, you're going to stay here. There's really nothing Rudy could do until you've healed up a bit. So we'll keep you at the base hospital, but I'll stay here, too, to manage things."

"Will I see again?" Steve asked. He knew that Rudy could replace the left eye completely if needed; actually, Rudy could replace the right one, too, if it came to that. But he hated giving up any more of his real parts. He was as attached to his right eye as he was to his left arm. He didn't want to lose it.

"Probably." That was Dr. Miller. "We'll have to see, but I think your right eye should heal given some time. The eye has an amazing ability to heal itself. I can't speak for the left, but I think there's a good chance you're going to be all right in several days otherwise."

Steve sagged against the sheets. "And now," Oscar said, "when you move him to a room, go ahead and give him a larger dose on the painkillers. You need a good night's sleep, pal."

"Yeah." Steve didn't have the strength to protest. The gurney was wheeled out of the little room and down a few halls, and then he was moved over to an official hospital bed. Even blind, he would have recognized that. How many days, weeks, months had he spent in hospital beds the last few years? Someday he would count up the tally, but right now, he was just too tired.

He was already almost asleep anyway when the nurse came back with the shot. Finally released from this eternal day, he fell into dreams - sighted dreams - of flying.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve opened his eyes onto nothing. He thought it was morning; he could feel sunshine on his left cheek through the window. Still, no light. Of course, he did have both eyes heavily bandaged. He'd really have to wait for them to change things and fill him up with more eyedrops to be able to get an accurate reading on his sight. He was disappointed. He had hoped for definite, immediate improvement after getting actual medical care, topped off with a good night's sleep.

"Steve?" Oscar's voice came as his head shifted. Oscar's footsteps followed, approaching from the right.

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"9:30."

Steve shook his head. "Wow. I must have really been out."

"You needed it. You had a hard day yesterday to put it mildly." Oscar gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Feeling any better?"

"Aside from the fact that I can't see a thing, yes." Now that he moved past sight in his inventory, he did feel better in general. The shakiness was gone. His mouth was no longer dry. The burns on his face still hurt, but even those felt better than yesterday. "I'm surprised nobody has been in here to check me."

"Actually, they have, but I was keeping everybody quiet. We figured you needed rest as much as anything after yesterday, so other than the basic vitals checks, we let you sleep and put off real examination. Ready for some breakfast?"

Breakfast. Steve's stomach suddenly realized that he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday morning. The Navion hadn't carried food any more than it had carried water. After all, they had expected just a routine short flight, couple of hours. "Breakfast sounds good," he agreed. "What about the others?"

"I haven't seen them, but I did ask. Senator Hill was still unconscious last I heard. Lannon is in rough shape; that must have been a large rattlesnake, and it hit a main vessel. Greg is fine. He came by to see you once early this morning, just to make sure that you were doing okay."

Hopefully he was, anyway. Steve raised a hand, running it across the bandages, again feeling the sunlight on his left cheek. Oscar moved to his right, apparently finding the cord and pushing the call button, because a nurse appeared promptly.

Breakfast was welcome but was a new study in difficulty. The nurse asked if he wanted any help, and he refused, his stubborn streak surfacing. Oscar at least had known better than to ask that. He had bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast, but while two out of three of those elements weren't too hard to find on the plate, the eggs almost seemed to be deliberately evading his probing fork. He used the toast to herd them, but he was still sure that part of his meal wound up escaping. At least the orange juice didn't hide from his straw. Steve made himself chase the meal out, deliberately trying to improve at this even while hoping that he wouldn't have to use the new skill much longer.

He had just finished when Dr. Miller came in with another doctor named Winston, who he said was their ophthalmologist on staff. The bandages were removed, and then Steve got his answer on the question of sight. He could see absolutely nothing. He might have been in a cave for all the light that came in.

Dr. Miller thought that the inflammation looked a little better. Steve focused on Oscar's breathing. Oscar had been across the room talking on the phone to Rudy yesterday during the first up-close exam, but he was right here for this one, and while he made no comment, Steve heard his respirations pick up. It must look pretty bad. Dr. Winston was cautiously optimistic on the right eye, fascinated with the left, and Oscar had to remind him once with that governmental edge in his tone that his purpose here was simply treatment, not curiosity.

After more eyedrops and a fresh bandage, as well as more ointment across the facial burns, the doctors left. Steve turned his head toward Oscar, not that it made much difference blind. "Oscar, you need to get nondisclosure agreements from everybody as soon as possible."

"Already did that," Oscar said. "I haven't been any farther from you all night than outside the door of this room, but all medical staff are taken care of."

"I meant the others on the plane, especially Lannon. They all know I'm bionic. I had to straighten out the propeller after it was bent in the crash landing. The General is one thing, and Greg isn't a problem, but I don't trust Lannon. I'd get his signature ASAP. In fact -" Steve paused, looking around. "We're alone in here, right?" He couldn't hear anyone.

"Yes," Oscar replied. "What is it, pal?"

"I think that Lannon might have meant for me to be the one bitten by the snake. We were clearing the runway, and he called me over saying that he had a rock he couldn't move. Oscar, he gave me perfect directions straight to that snake, and then at the last minute, I heard him jump away just before I tripped and fell. Then the snake was on me, and I was trying to hold him off and managed to throw him. Pure chance that he hit Lannon. But I really think Lannon might have tried to kill me."

Oscar considered. "To eliminate you as a witness?"

"Exactly. His whole career is tied up in Hill. And while it's not the General's fault the oil line broke, I already saw enough - back when I could see - to question whether he was fit to fly at all. That went way beyond what happened in the simulator, Oscar. He got us completely off course, lost VFR without going to instrument plan, and seemed disoriented when I called him on it. I think Lannon knew what kind of testimony I'd have to give at the hearing once we were rescued. Hill would never agree to anything underhanded; he's just been in denial to keep flying. I can understand that. But I wouldn't put a staged accident past Lannon."

Oscar was silent for a moment. "I'll go check on them, Lannon specifically, as soon as you feel like being alone for a bit."

"Go ahead. I'd rather get him nailed down on this ASAP. I'll be all right for a few minutes. Come back once you're done, though." Steve was very grateful for Oscar's presence in this blind crisis, but he could handle a few minutes alone.

Oscar accepted it. "I will." He picked up the cord and pushed it into Steve's hand. "Call a nurse if you need anything. I've already got the whole shift of nurses for this room sworn to secrecy." He gave Steve's shoulder another squeeze, then left.

Steve lay there in bed, trying to relax, trying to hear. The sun on his left cheek had shifted a little, more on his neck now. He mentally started reviewing the last day, hoping that they could find and fix whatever was wrong with Hill. One of the worst initial aspects of his own accident when he lost his limbs had been the crushing realization that he wouldn't ever be able to fly again. Thanks to the marvels of bionics, that hadn't been the case, but he had certainly thought it was for a long time. If there had been any way to hide the loss of his arm and legs from others in order to keep flying, he would have tried it. No, he couldn't blame Hill. No one but another pilot truly understood what it was like up there. Most pilots would do anything at all, including delude themselves for a while, to try to hold onto their wings.

A phone rang to his left, startling him out of thought. He reached over, fumbling for it, and found the receiver. The phone was on a nightstand next to the bed, of course. He picked it up. "Hello?"

There was a moment of silence, then a familiar voice. "Steve! I was expecting Oscar; he left me this number to reach him at. How are you doing?"

"I'm hanging in there, Rudy. They thought things might look a little better when they changed the bandages this morning." He sighed. "I still can't see a thing, though. Nothing, either eye."

"From Dr. Miller's description, this is going to take time, Steve. I wouldn't expect any difference in just a day. Steve, I'd come straight back if I thought I could do anything, but really, you're going to have to heal up first. I can't possibly do surgery when all the surrounding tissues are inflamed."

"I know." Steve sighed again. "I'll just have to wait a while; I understand that."

"This international conference is over at the end of next week, and I doubt we could do anything before then anyway. But I will leave now if you want me there."

Steve dribbled his fingers on the rail in thought, then shook his head. "No, Rudy, thanks for the offer, but Oscar's here right on top of things, so I'm not alone, and you're right. There's nothing you can do for a while."

"But once you do heal, Steve, we'll get you fixed up." Rudy hesitated. "No matter what. Even if it turns out to be both eyes, which it probably won't, I will get you fixed up again."

"I know. Thanks, Rudy." He didn't want to lose his right eye, but if he had to, he certainly wasn't going to turn down additional replacement parts. He knew that he would see again, one way or another. The blindness was only temporary.

"Is Oscar around?" Rudy asked.

"Not right now. He stayed right with me until I woke up, but I asked him to go check on the others. He needs to get nondisclosure agreements from them, too."

"Of course. I'll call back in a few hours after this next presentation and talk to him. I'll talk to both of you. Things are going to be all right, Steve."

"Yeah. Get on to your presentation. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay. Bye, Steve."

"Bye, Rudy."

Rudy hung up. Steve tried to and dropped the receiver, having to chase it down by its cord to retrieve it. On his second attempt, he managed to hang up the phone. Then he lay there in the hospital bed, looking at nothing and thinking, and his thoughts turned after a few minutes away from himself and back to General Hill. Steve could be fixed to good as new and put back in the air; he knew that. He was afraid that Hill couldn't be, and as one pilot for another, he mourned.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve wasn't sure how long he lay there in the bed thinking, but eventually, he emerged from the subject of Hill to wish for a clock. The sun had moved down some more and was warming his left side. He thought of pushing the call button just to ask the nurse what time it was, but that was pathetic. They were medical staff on duty, there to care for patients, not to be human timekeepers for him. Instead, he tried counting off seconds himself. Of course, with no frame of reference to start from, that didn't help much. After approximately five minutes of counting seconds, he stopped. The only thing he had learned was that it was roughly five minutes since the last time he wondered what time it was.

He ran his right hand over his left wrist. No, he had no watch on now. Of course, if he had still had it on, it wouldn't have told him anything unless he removed the obstructing glass. He flexed the amazing bionic fingers that Rudy had designed, marveling at their sensitivity along with their strength, and he remembered breaking out the gauges in the Navion yesterday, just enough to let him "read" the dials, not enough to damage the instruments.

Rudy was a genius. Rudy could fix him up again to as good or better than new, no matter what, and Steve knew it. All he had to do was wait.

He continued his exploration of the hospital bed. Not only had his watch been removed as well as his silver bracelet on the right, but he was now wearing a hospital gown instead of the much-abused uniform he had had on yesterday. They no doubt had given him a sponge bath last night after he was out. He was no longer hooked to monitors like he had been in the ER, but he still had the IV line in the back of his left hand and also had a catheter. Of course, that had been necessary in the long, sedated night on fluids, too. However, Steve was feeling better now. Well, aside from being blind. He didn't need the lines that held him down any longer.

All at once, he felt an overwhelming desire to do something, anything. Anything besides lie here and count off seconds between unknown minutes. He pushed the button.

Either Oscar had motivated the staff, or they were simply curious at the security restrictions, or the response time from the nurses at Luke Air Force Base Hospital was truly award winning. A nurse appeared within mere seconds, knocking at the door and then opening it. "Do you need something, Colonel Austin?"

"Yes," he said. He heard her footsteps come in and the door shut again behind her. "I need unhooked from all of these lines so I can get up and walk around a bit."

"That's really for the doctor to say, Colonel." She came over to the bed and put a hand on his arm, and he was pathetically glad for the point of contact. He created a mental picture to go with her voice, just to fill in the blank. She was brunette, he decided, with gray eyes and was in her 30s, old enough to be experienced on the job, not yet old enough to sound middle aged.

"I don't need them anymore. I'm perfectly fine this morning. Well, except for my eyes."

"Your lab work showed that your body was quite stressed when you were admitted. Dr. Miller wanted you to stay on the fluids."

"That was last night. I'm sure my lab work is a whole lot better now." Indeed, he felt fine this morning physically except for the blindness and the pain from the burns. All the systemic symptoms that he did admit he had been having last night were gone.

"Colonel, this isn't my call to make. I'll have to page Dr. Winston and check, but it might be a while, since he already did rounds. I think he had a surgery scheduled."

Steve shook his head. "No, we aren't waiting. Either you do it now, or I will do it myself, blind. Which one do you think is the better option?"

There was a silence. He pictured her looking professionally disapproving and weighing his resolve, and he tried to project an image of rock-solid determination. That last part at least didn't take any imagination to come up with. After a moment, she capitulated. "All right, but I am going to leave a message for Dr. Winston, too."

She disconnected all the lines, and Steve promptly sat up on the side of the bed and dropped to his feet. The nurse grabbed an elbow, but his legs felt as usual underneath him. He felt perfectly fine except for disorientation about his surroundings. He took a few steps forward abruptly, a surge of motion, and he heard the nurse's sharp intake of breath and felt her reach out just as he walked straight into the rolling table.

The door opened off to one side, and Oscar's voice came in the next moment. "What are you doing?"

Steve turned to face his friend, for all the good that did. "Something besides just lying here. I can at least figure out the room that I'm in."

Oscar approached and took over on the other elbow. "Mr. Goldman," the nurse started, "he insisted that he was going to unhook everything himself if I didn't do it. He -"

"It's all right, nurse. I understand. That will be all for now."

The nurse left the room with brisk, relieved strides, and Oscar sighed. "I leave you alone for one hour."

One hour? "It had to be longer than that," Steve protested.

"No, it's been one hour. Steve, they want you to rest and recover from yesterday."

"I _am _recovered from yesterday. Except for being blind. Oscar, I've got to at least get up for a little or I'm going to go crazy."

Oscar sighed again. "All right, we'll take a tour of this room. Gently." They explored it systematically, a standard hospital room, but Steve discovered that there were two beds in here and that he had the one closer to the window. The second one was made, but he wondered if Oscar had slept there last night.

Oscar. If he was getting cabin fever, Oscar had to be even worse, separated from his office and phones and data and networks. Oscar was married to his job even more than Steve was. How long would Oscar be content to stay here before having to leave? The only thing worse than having a babysitter attached to his right elbow at the moment was the thought of not having one, of being left totally alone in an unfamiliar location.

"Look here," he said, "I am feeling a whole lot better. Except for the eyes, and everybody agrees that that's going to take time before we know anything. Maybe we could fly back to Washington so you can stay plugged into the office better. I know you're worried about work. I at least can find my way around my apartment, too."

"No." Oscar's denial was immediate. "Neither one of us is going anywhere for at least several days, not until the doctor here gives you a clean bill of health all around."

"There are also doctors back at the lab in Washington, Oscar. They even have security clearance already. There's no reason I can't heal up there."

"But the flight would take several hours. Pal, I don't want you more than a few minutes away from a doctor for now, immediately on call. Forget it; we aren't going anywhere."

Steve analyzed the layers beneath his friend's tone. "It looks pretty bad, doesn't it?"

Oscar's breathing again accelerated slightly, as before during the examination. After a few moments of silence, he said, "I'm not a doctor, Steve. But yes, your eyes look bad enough that I don't want you out of reach of hospital staff, not even for a few hours. We're not leaving Luke until you're doing a whole lot better."

They reached the window in their tour, and Steve leaned on the sill. "What's it look like out there?" he asked.

"Oh, it's a beautiful view of a parking lot. There's a large building a couple of hundred feet away, nothing but cars between. You're not missing much here, at least."

Steve dribbled his fingers on the sill. "What about Lannon?" he asked, suddenly remembering why Oscar had left in the first place.

"He's definitely not leaving for a while. His body isn't reacting well at all, even with antivenom. I talked to him for quite a while. I hope he's not going to be a problem; he's still obviously wondering how to salvage the situation politically. He did finally sign a nondisclosure agreement, but that was only after I told him that Hill had passed out at the controls on the way back, and that you were giving a full statement about that and about earlier, and there was no way Hill's going to come out of this untouched. His career as a pilot at least is over, and of course, his ability to function as a senator is in serious question right now. I did finally convince Lannon of that, but he's still hoping to think of some way to minimize things."

"What about Hill?"

"The senator is still unconscious. They're calling in a neurosurgeon from another hospital for a consult. Obviously it's something with his brain, but they don't know exactly what yet."

Steve was silent, sorting through this. After a moment, Oscar tugged at his elbow. "Let's go back to this chair over here, Steve. It's almost lunch time now, and after we eat, you can tell me the full story of yesterday."

Steve let himself be steered to the chair. "All right, but only if you do, too. How did you wind up here at Luke?"

Oscar was just getting going in that account when an aide came in with two lunch plates. It was a hamburger and fries, Steve discovered. At least that was easy to eat. He considered putting up another independence fit at an obvious accommodation, but he was too hungry, and he devoured the meal, sitting in the chair and listening to Oscar and wondering even more with additional gaps filled in about that very young but calm airman who had been on air traffic control yesterday and had talked him down. She sounded like a winner. He would have to see that she got a commendation for yesterday if nobody else had tended to that already.


	5. Chapter 5

"Absolutely not," Rudy said definitely. "You don't need to fly back to Washington until you're better."

Steve sighed. "Rudy, I feel fine. Other than the eyes, and they're just going to take time. What's wrong with going on back to the lab where our people are? That would be better for security anyway."

"Not with severe inflammation and swelling surrounding tissues that close to the brain. The pressure changes on a flight could complicate things badly. It isn't worth taking the risk, Steve."

Steve sat in the chair in his hospital room, holding the phone, staring at nothing. At least he was wearing clothes instead of a hospital gown now, but he knew every inch of this room by this point. He had paced it enough. This was the second morning of his captivity, as he was starting to think of it.

Rudy's voice was sympathetic. "Maybe you and Oscar can do a few laps of the hospital this afternoon to at least get some exercise in. Hang in there, Steve. I was talking to Dr. Winston this morning, and he said that things are starting to improve. Actually, this whole enforced break might be a good opportunity."

"How?" Steve asked. He was having trouble seeing a bright side in all of this. Correction: He was having trouble seeing _anything_ in all of this.

"You know Oscar hardly ever actually gets a vacation. He's staying with you down there, and this is a good chance to get him to take some time off. I know he's called a few people, but he's not doing anywhere close to his full job. Try to get him to relax a little. Watch - or listen - to TV. Chit chat. Let him rest a little and think about things besides work. He could use these days away from Washington himself."

If he lasted and didn't go stir crazy himself, Steve thought. On the other hand, Oscar indeed hadn't made any hints toward leaving so far. Steve was impressed at how his friend and boss was handling this to date. "I'll try," he said, his tone making it clear that that wasn't his first option.

Rudy chuckled. "Hang in there, Steve," he repeated. "And remember, everything is going to be all right. This is only temporary."

"I know."

"Let me talk to Oscar."

Steve held out the receiver in the general direction where he knew Oscar was. "He wants to talk to you."

Oscar took three steps closer and grabbed the phone. Steve stood up, and he felt the other man's attention sharpen, even while talking to Rudy. Steve took a slow, careful tour of the room, counting steps along his rehearsed pacing track. Even knowing the steps and the furniture by now, it was still hard to step out into the darkness like he usually did and take a full stride. His movements were still cautious.

The bionic legs worked obediently under him, capable of so much more than this slow pace yet also capable of control. Keeping the power to only what was needed at any moment was nearly second nature for Steve at this point. But at this morning's bandage change, he still hadn't been able to see anything at all.

There was some good news, at least. It was reported that General Hill had finally regained consciousness. His specific problems were still being diagnosed, but he was at least awake and talking. Steve let himself think about Hill, distracting himself by focusing on someone in far worse shape. He really did hope that they would find something to help Hill. Some kind of brain surgery, maybe. Still, the odds of him ever flying again were near zero.

"Hmm." Oscar's voice caught his attention. Rudy had just brought up something that Oscar hadn't previously thought of quite in that way. "That's a good point. Okay, Rudy. We'll do our best. Talk to you later." Oscar hung up and came over to join Steve.

"What's a good point?" Steve demanded.

"Oh, he was just saying that it probably wouldn't hurt you to have a bit of a vacation from everything anyway, and to try to think of it that way, giving you some time off."

Steve shook his head, half admiring Rudy's duplicity and half annoyed. "This is _not_ my idea of a vacation."

"I know, pal." Oscar put a hand on his arm. "We'll get out of this room for a while this afternoon and take a short walk around. I don't want you to tire yourself out, though."

"Oscar, you'll get tired long before I do," Steve retorted. To prove the point, he stepped out strongly, taking a full, even beyond-human stride. Of course, he knew that the path was clear at the moment for another 10 feet before the wall. Even so, he quickly pulled himself back down after the one step of defiance. He just couldn't make himself really move off powerfully into the oppressive darkness.

(SMDM)

Steve sat still in the bed as the scissors snipped away on the gauze. This was the third morning of his captivity, and the bandages were being changed as usual.

And then as they fell away, he came to attention. There _was_ something visible through his right eye. The left was still dead, but the right had a wavering, distant form of light, as if seeing it at the end of a tunnel with curtains between himself and it. Focus wasn't possible, but there was _something _out there. "I can see something!" he announced. "Kind of like distant light. No detail, but it's not totally black."

"Wonderful," Dr. Winston said. "The inflammation is steadily improving. I think your right eye is going to be okay given a few days to heal, Colonel. Now, I'm going to put in more eyedrops and then rebandage them."

"Can't we leave the bandage off?" Steve protested.

"No. I'm very glad that your vision is starting to return, but the eye still needs a lot of rest and healing. It doesn't need to be asked to work at this stage, and you know you would keep trying to use it. Better to have the bandages still. But I expect every day will be an improvement from here on, and in a few days, we'll be able to leave them off."

Steve was quiet as they medicated his eyes and the facial burns, then put the thick patches back over with bandages on top of that. His temporary glimpse of an indistinct, out-of-focus world retreated, but he hung onto it in memory, savoring it.

Light.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve sat on the couch, looking at the blank TV screen - and enjoying every second of it. This was the sixth day of his captivity, and yesterday morning, Dr. Winston had left his right eye uncovered and put a patch over the left. Steve had still been cautioned not to read for another few days yet and not to strain it, but his vision in his right eye was definitely coming back to him. It wasn't yet his usual 20/20, but today was better than yesterday, and tomorrow would be better yet.

Also yesterday, Oscar had finally agreed to let them move out of the hospital. They were now installed in a small apartment in the officers' barracks, still on base and only a few minutes away from the doctors. Like most military barracks, this was hardly the Hilton, but it was so definitely not a hospital that Steve didn't care how basic it was. He was more comfortable here. He had spent a lot of time in his life in military barracks, even more of it than he had spent in hospitals.

Oscar thanked the private at the door who was delivering their pizza and then turned back to Steve with the box in his hands. "Ready for tonight's feature presentation?"

"Should be about time for it to start." Steve stood and walked over to the TV, turning it on, as Oscar sat down on the other end of the couch, putting the pizza in the middle. Steve joined him, and they both started munching as the credits to the Godfather began to roll.

Oscar rarely had had time to watch movies since his career really got moving, and when they had been perusing the TV listings earlier, Steve had promised him that this one was worth watching. Steve had, of course, seen it in the theaters. Oscar probably never went to theaters anymore except for a clandestine meeting. The plot to the movie started thickening, and Oscar was soon making professional side comments. Steve shook his head.

"Relax a little, Oscar. Yes, Hollywood is less than accurate in a few places. Everybody expects that."

At that moment, the phone rang, and Oscar got up to answer it. Steve turned the volume down on the TV and, once he had determined the caller wasn't Rudy, sat back down still facing the screen but letting his thoughts drift.

His eye was healing. He raised a hand to brush against it, and he savored the private feeling of satisfaction. He hadn't mentioned that to either Rudy or Oscar, but the fact that an identical circumstance had been thrown at his bionic and his physical parts and it was the physical side that had handled it better was deeply gratifying. For all the amazing technology, the human side had come out on top this once. That pleased him. He was still far more than a machine and in ways more durable than one.

Oscar hung up and walked back over to the couch. "Well, well, well. That was the director of the hospital informing me that Lannon died this afternoon."

"Of the rattlesnake bite?" Steve knew that Lannon's progress had been slow, but it had been progress. It seemed odd for a snake bite to suddenly kill an improving patient six days later.

"No, he had a heart attack. Stress from the snake and everything else probably played a factor, of course."

They looked at each other in perfect symmetry of thought. "I'm sorry for his relatives, but it is one problem off our hands," Steve said.

"Yes, it is. I was worried about him breaking security. And the man did try to kill you, after all. That rattlesnake could have bitten you."

"Yes, it could have," Steve agreed.

"Hoist with his own petard," Oscar mused.

Steve grinned. "I wouldn't have expected you to have much time to read Shakespeare."

"I haven't always been head of OSI, Steve. Actually, I was in a production of Hamlet way back in high school. Some of the memorable lines have stuck with me."

"You were in Hamlet? Which part? Did you have the lead?"

Oscar smiled, shaking his head. "No, I was Marcellus. At least I got to be in the first scene before the audience got focused on the leads. I'll bet you always played the lead in your school plays."

Steve shrugged. "Can I help it if I've got it? Actually, I was considered sort of a nerd. I wasn't supposed to care about the education, only sports and such, and I made the mistake of letting people know I really thought the education part was interesting, too. But yes, I played a few leads. Never Hamlet, though."

Oscar pointed to the television. "Might as well watch the rest of the movie. Since we've established our acting prowess, we can critique them."

Steve laughed. "I don't think Brando has anything to fear from either one of us. We've missed a few minutes, but I'm sure you can fill it in."

"Probably more realistically than Hollywood can," Oscar agreed. He stood up and turned the volume back up, then returned to the couch. Steve grabbed another piece of pizza, and sat there watching the movie, just relishing seeing it instead of only hearing it.

This still wasn't his idea of a vacation, but he had to admit, the last two days hadn't been that bad.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve sat on the exam table as Dr. Winston thoroughly examined his right eye. This was the tenth day of his captivity, and Steve was about ready to stage an escape. He could only imagine how restless Oscar must be getting, but his boss remarkably had stayed right with him this entire last week and a half. Winston had said yesterday that he might clear Steve for travel today, and Steve was already packed and had brought his bag to the appointment with them this morning. He was ready to leave this hospital, Luke Air Force Base, and the entire state of Arizona the minute he was able. He had had enough of this.

His vision had continued to improve, and yesterday and today, he felt like his right eye was back to normal sight. In the mirror, it looked almost as usual, the redness mostly gone. The burns on his face were still visible, but they were healing. His left eye remained dead, but the tissues surrounding the eye socket there were looking much better, too.

Oscar had been trying not to let them do too much and also trying to keep Steve inside out of the bright sunlight for the last several days, but yesterday afternoon, he had finally let his friend go visit the Navion. General Hill's plane had been towed to a hanger. It sat there waiting, the remnants of the oil line break washed off the paint by some airman. Steve wondered whom it would be sold to. He felt a kind of closure seeing it again, though, climbing up into the cockpit, looking at the still broken out glass over the gauges, then stepping out to check his blind work on the propeller. It was, as Hill had said, a sweet little plane.

Winston stepped back and lowered his penlight. "Clean bill of health, Colonel," he said. "Thanks to that boy and what he did. Cleansing the eye like that, keeping the light out. You owe your sight to him."

"Yeah, I know that, doc," Steve replied.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you with that left eye, but it's a little out of my line." The doctor still had an edge of curiosity under the words. His interest in Steve's left eye in the last week and a half had been hard to keep a lid on, though he had dutifully tried.

Oscar stepped in. "Thank you, doctor. We have a specialist in mind."

"Thanks again, doc." Steve started for the door, and Oscar, with Steve's small leather suitcase, followed.

As they left the examining area and headed toward a lobby, Steve suddenly recognized Hill up ahead. The General was in a wheelchair, and Greg was seated next to him, both of them bent over a chess board. Steve looked over at Oscar. "How is he?"

"Don't know yet. It is a brain tumor. The doctors haven't determined whether it's malignant or not, but he's not waiting to use it as a cop-out."

"What do you mean?"

"Last week he resigned," Oscar said, "from the Air Force and the Senate."

Steve studied Hill. Yes, it was better that way, better to leave than to be forcibly retired, but still, he knew how hard that had been, especially when Hill had been trying to convince himself for months that he was fine. However, now that convincing himself was no longer possible, he was facing his future squarely. "That's a pretty gutty thing to do," Steve noted.

Oscar nodded. "I think so. Come on." He led the way as they approached the other two men. "Hello, Edward."

Hill looked up at his old friend. "Oscar."

Steve walked up beside them and held out his hand. "Good luck, sir."

Hill looked surprised at first. He recognized by now everything that his bullheadedness had wound up costing others, including Steve personally. "That's very kind of you, Colonel. There are men who wouldn't shake my hand."

"Well, if that's true, General, there are men who don't know you."

Hill slowly began to smile. "Thank you. I'm lucky to be alive. I thank you for that."

Steve indicated Greg. "Thank him."

Hill shook his head. "I've got the rest of my life to thank him. I may not see you again. You're a very special man. The best thing I ever did was get Oscar that six million.

"General," Steve corrected, "the best thing you ever did was raise a son."

Hill chuckled. "You're right."

Steve nodded to him, wishing him the best and letting it show, one pilot to another. "Goodbye, sir. Goodbye, Greg."

Greg reached out to shake his hand. "Goodbye, Colonel."

Oscar handed Steve his bag. "I'll catch up with you."

"All right," Steve agreed. He knew those two were old friends. As for himself, he was perfectly happy getting on out of this hospital and waiting outside.

He exited into the glorious, warm sunlight, letting himself see it, letting himself feel it. Never would he take simple sight for granted again.

"Colonel Austin?" A voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks, and he turned back to see a young airman rushing to catch up. She stopped in front of him, peering at his face. "Colonel Austin?"

"That's right." Steve was used to people recognizing him from the publicity surrounding his astronaut days.

She smiled. "I thought so. I know we've never really met exactly, but I just couldn't pass by without saying hello. Airman Denby." She saluted him.

Steve returned the salute. "Nice to meet you, Airman." Her voice rang a bell somewhere, and he scrambled to sort it out, wondering if she was just wanting to speak to a celebrity or if he had encountered her somewhere before.

"Are you all right now?" she asked, looking at his patched left eye and the healing burns.

"Yeah, I think so. Denby." The name meant nothing to him, but that voice… "Are you sure we haven't met somewhere before?"

"Well, not really. If you'll excuse me, I have to go. I have to get over to the tower." She left, and when she was several feet away, the realization struck.

"The tower? Tower!" Steve spun around. Oscar had never mentioned that air traffic controller's name from last week, but the voice sure matched. "Hey, Denby." He pursued her, catching up easily. "You were the one working the tower last week when I landed."

She nodded. "I was, sir. It was a very impressive landing."

Steve knew that it had in fact been a lousy landing technically, complete with a few bounces, but that wasn't the point right now. This woman on that afternoon had been the glue holding all of it together for him during that approach. He dropped his bag and seized her in a hug, spinning both of them around, having to remind himself not to squeeze too tightly with the right arm. "Thank you. Thank you."

She was startled at first, but her smile would have powered Phoenix when he finally put her down. "You're welcome, sir. Just doing my duty, but I - I'm glad it worked out, Colonel."

"So am I. Now, Denby, if you're heading over to the tower, I'll go along with you. I want to talk to your commanding officer about a commendation for the other day."

Side by side, the two of them headed for the tower.


End file.
